


Apologetic Shoulder Blades

by SpaciousSpace



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Carrots, I'm so sorry, IDGAF, M/M, Yay school, also starring my atrocious tags, art class, artsy!Enjolras, maybe some smut idk, oblivious!Grantaire, slight Courfeyrac/Jehan, that's right carrots are in the tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-19
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2017-12-27 00:51:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/972368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaciousSpace/pseuds/SpaciousSpace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras didn't want to take the art class, but a certain person persuades him to stay in the class without even saying a single word directly to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. No Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Yay I can't write E/R so this'll be fun. The art room is based on the art room at my school. I'll add a link to a drawn diagram of the room arrangement in the next chapter. That being said, I hope to make this a chapter thing. This first chapter is kind of short, but I hope to make them longer.

Enjolras didn’t know how he ended up having an art class. It was his senior year, surely he had gotten the correct classes he’d requested. He made it very clear to the counselor that was in charge of scheduling that he _needed_ that politics class, and he _needed_ that law class. He didn’t need an art class.

Yet as he looked around at all of the weary high school students at the end of their first day of school, he found himself making his way to a 2-D Into to Art class. He sighed and grasped one strap of his backpack, walking resolutely down the crowded hallways of lockers and students. He wondered how many of them had no idea what they were doing with their lives after high school. Surely it was more than he wanted to think about.

He passed his locker considering dropping his calc, history, and law book off, but decided against it. He kept his gaze straight and continued down the hall and took a right. This lead to a small alcove which had a door straight ahead to a grassy area and a teacher parking lot, as well as a door on the right to a history class. The door on his left was simple. It held no posters or signs on it, and through the window he could see a darkened classroom with students wandering about trying to find a seat. He took  a deep breath and pushed the door open.

The room was bigger than he’d anticipated. It extended to the right far more than any other room in the school, other than the commons. There were large, tall rectangular tables pushed together to make an even larger rectangle with a hole in each short in to allow people to get into the center.

Unsure where to sit, Enjolras made his way to the back of the class. He figured this wouldn’t be very important anyways; he planned to switch out as soon as school was out for the day. He set his red backpack on the ground under the table and folded his hands on his desk.

Ahead of him was a chalkboard that still had whites and yellows smeared about it from the last time someone had erased something. He hoped he wouldn’t need to take notes; his phone was already almost dead. He felt the reassuring weight in his pocket that kept him neat and organized.

The bell rang and the teacher came to the front of the room to stand before the class. Enjolras blinked lazily. The teacher was bald and wore a long sleeve light blue shirt with khakis, and chewed gum. He seemed to be sizing the class up, and when his eyes met Enjolras’s his face made no change, and he simply looked to the next person. They sat there for a few moments in an awkward, and rather antagonizing silence, the teacher staring at them, the students staring back—some with curiosity, others with a blank expression—with about as much expectation evident as the other.

In the corner of the room the door flew open and all eyes turned to look at the new inhabitant of the room. Enjolras’s eyes raked over him. His hair was a deep black and it was curly, hanging in his face a bit. The bot had an ear bud in one ear, canvas bag slung over one shoulder casually. Enjolras cursed himself mentally for taking in his pretty features muted by the bags under his eyes. The student paused as he realized that people were staring and stared back at everyone, eventually adjusting his sweatshirt then continuing his quest to find a seat. And of course, with Enjolras’s luck, he sat directly across the rectangle of desks from him.

The newcomer didn’t seem to have noticed him sitting there in the corner of the furthest row, and Enjolras was grateful. He could feel the heat in his cheeks and on his neck. It made Enjolras roll his sleeves up to his elbows and rest them on his portion of table space.

 _Surely this can’t be happening,_ Enjolras thought to himself. He could barely hear the teacher begin speaking to the boy about how he was late. The new student didn’t seem to care, and made it evident with a dismissive shrug of his shoulders. Enjolras realized then that the boy was now speaking.

“—yeah, by like forty seconds. Look, it won’t happen again, okay?” The voice sounded tired and slightly strained with agitation as the teacher picked up his clipboard for attendance.

“Name please.” The teacher seemed to be taking no crap today. He held his pen poised to write the name down. The curly haired boy sat staring at the teacher for a second before he dare speak.

“Grantaire.” The sound of his name sent shivers down Enjolras’s back. _Grantaire._ He looked at the back of Grantaire’s head, smiling slightly despite the situation going on in the class at the moment.

“Tardy, Gran-Taire.” The teacher frowned at him.

“Sorry, but did you just tell me to shut up there?” Grantaire spit back, standing from the stool he was situated on. The movement unsettled the bag and sent a paintbrush and a few pencils rolling a little to the right.

“Why would I do that?” The teacher sneered at him, and Enjolras could tell it would be a long year for Grantaire at this rate.

Once the teacher had calmed down, he introduced himself as M. Javert. He explained that he wasn’t “here to teach students art, he was here to criticize and get paid for it.” Enjolras was taken aback by that, but no one else appeared to care in the slightest. They were given a materials list and a piece of paper.

“I’d like you to sketch something in the last twenty minutes and hand it in to get an idea of how terrible this period will be.” And with that said, Javert walked to his office, and closed the door.

The class began to hum quietly with conversation. Enjolras watched as Grantaire retrieved his brush and pencils from the floor and put everything but a pencil away. He placed the paper before him and began to sketch. Enjolras admired the way he hunched over slightly to rest both arms on the table, head bowed.

Enjolras looked at the paper and began to sketch a black-haired boy with a strong jaw line and no eyes.  Enjolras was too scared to draw them; they looked as though they held so much emotion, and there was no way he’d capture that. At least he tried. When the twenty minutes were over and Javert came to collect his paper Enjolras realized that he had tried and failed to make the boy beautiful. Javert looked at the paper in disdain.

“A for effort, Enjolras.” Javert put the paper in the stack and continued on down the line. Once all papers were collected, the bell rang and they were dismissed. Enjolras watched Grantaire leave, then pulled his phone out and pulled Courfeyrac’s contact up, shooting him a message.

 

_Won’t be in that politics class. Change of plans._


	2. You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Jehan knows shit and Enjolras does more staring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm honestly shocked at how awesome of a response I got from you guys. I'm super excited about writing this one, and I'm hoping to keep it super cheery(ish). This chapter is still pretty short for what it could be. 
> 
> HEY that diagram I promised is up on my tumblr! Very badly drawn on my new drawing tablet. It's meant to give you an idea as to what's going down and where and yeah. http://spaciousspace.tumblr.com/image/62489756941

The debate club meeting wouldn’t start for twenty minutes, but that didn’t mean Enjolras didn’t get there early. He unlocked the door and flipped the lights on, shutting the door behind him. The walls were covered with different posters and papers for their arguments, blank ink covered in a red scrawl. The desks were arranged neatly in rows, the chairs stacked on the table surface. There was a small teacher’s desk in the corner which Enjolras typically sat at. He kept a file rack in the far left corner for all debate topics and had a desk calendar with notes written on most Friday and Saturday dates.

Enjolras dropped his backpack next to the desk and sat in the chair, resting his elbows on the table, face in his hands. What was he going to do about Grantaire? He knew he was going to stay in that class, even though he couldn’t do anything artsy unless you counted putting facts and such things together to make a fluid and stable argument. He could do that.

The blond sat back in his chair and proceeded to spin in circles and stare at the ceiling, the dots in the tiles spinning and making a myriad of circles above him. Could he really do anything about the current art situation? He jumped as the door swung open and Combeferre came in, towing Courfeyrac and Jehan behind him.

Jehan caught his eye immediately and raised a gentle eyebrow. Courf and Ferre didn’t seem to notice that Enjolras was in distress. Enjolras covered his emotions with his typical scowl. The rest of the Amis arrived, taking their seats and chatting amongst themselves, though the conversation topics varied from girls to their next debate.

He went through the motions. He stood before the club, writing things on the whiteboard and discussing their stance in the next debate they were to be in. There was general tomfoolery, the normal snickers when someone made a joke. Enjolras tuned it out and focused on what he was saying. Once he released everyone from the meeting, he returned to his desk and plopped down in the swivel chair, digging around in his backpack for something that wasn’t there to pass the time.

“You seem worried. What’s wrong?” The voice before him was soft and curious. Enjolras made a _tsk_ ing noise and sat back in his chair, looking up at Jehan.

“Nothing is wrong. What gave you that idea?” He wore his trademark frown, suggesting that—indeed—nothing was wrong.

“Before the meeting started you just seemed a bit out of it. If it was nothing, I apologize, but I am rather curious.” Jehan smiled sweetly, twirling a strand of hair that hadn’t made it into the bun he’d sloppily made that morning. Enjolras couldn’t help but smile a bit.

“It’s nothing,” he lied with a smile that met his eyes, appearing genuine. “Honestly.”

Jehan surveyed him a moment, looking at him with his arms crossed. He finally nodded and relaxed his arms to his sides once more. “Alright. I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” With that, Jehan walked back to the desk he’d been sitting at and scooped up his floral print bag. It matched his pants today. He walked out of the room, and again he was left in silence.

 _It’s nothing._ He scoffed at himself. _Nothing? If it were nothing…_ His thoughts trailed off and he stared out the window, the trees below barely shivering with the slightest touch of air. He retrieved the materials list from his backpack and left the room, methodically turning off the lights and locking the door behind him.

**-ooo-**

The class was silent again. M. Javert said nothing and once again looked over the class with an air of disdain. Grantaire had barely made it in his seat as the bell had rang, earning a stern look from the art teacher, and an unnoticed, fluttery grin from Enjolras.

Enjolras was rather excited. He’d gone and bought everything he’d need this year, and had no qualms about it. He was resolute, and no one would stop him. He’d even bought a special little bag to keep everything in.

He stared at the back of Grantaire’s head, the black mop of curls the same as they had been the day before, if not a bit more tousled. He wished he had done a better job of drawing Grantaire; he knew Javert had been unimpressed, and probably disliked him quite a bit. He was alright with that, though. He only had one reason to be here, and it certainly wasn’t to please Javert.

“Upon looking over the sketches,” Javert began, “I have discovered most of you have no talent.” A few people shifted uncomfortably. “However, there are a few of you in here who know a bit of what you’re doing.” Enjolras saw the teacher glance towards Grantaire, who was indifferent from behind. “The first project in this class will be an acrylic painting. I trust all of you will choose a good subject, and hopefully you won’t ruin a canvas.” He looked as if the pompous tone left a bad taste in his mouth.

The class chattered over the assignment. Enjolras tapped his pen against the table, anxiety grabbing at his hands. He felt as though he might actually ruin a canvas, because really, who was he kidding. He couldn’t do anything artistic. Enjolras swallowed hard and looked up as Javert handed out a rubric. He sighed and went over the requirements, grimacing.

_Must use proper stroke technique __/10 points_

_Must have rough sketch before beginning __/10 points_

_Must be good subject __/20 points_

_Must be GOOD __/60 points_

Enjolras rolled his eyes. He was certain he wouldn’t like having Javert for the rest of the year, especially if he kept this attitude up. He instead looked up at Grantaire, bent over the table as he studied the rubric. Enjolras’s eyes moved up and down his back and head, taking in all of his features and the natural pose he sat in. Grantaire abruptly wrote something then crumpled the paper and tossed it backwards, landing in the center of the rectangle of tables. No one noticed by Enjolras.

The blond shifted in his seat to grab his backpack from under the table, pulling his sketchpad out with a pencil. He tapped his pencil against the table as he had with his pen, wondering idly what his subject would be. Surely he could paint something patriotic, or perhaps something from history.

Or Grantaire.

Enjolras shivered and pulled the sleeves of his sweatshirt down his arms, gripping his pencil tighter. He started sketching those dark black curls, studying the way they curved against each other then split to either side falling down and tickling the back of his neck. He noted the way they held the sunlight from the windows in the upside of each curl, a slight shine to the black.

Twenty minutes later Enjolras was staring proudly at the page with the back of a head on it. He felt he had captured everything as he should, though most of it had been scribbling circles. Perhaps he could really do this, and maybe yes this would be good.

He had five minutes of class left. Enjolras stuffed the sketchpad, pencil, and pen back into his bag carelessly, eyes not leaving Grantaire. He was entranced with the way the curls fell, the way his spine curved slightly to the right with the way he slumped over the table sketching. He couldn’t help but wonder what it was that he was drawing.

Pretending to need a tissue, Enjolras stood and walked around the rectangle, slowing as he got to the front of the classroom. He inconspicuously glanced at Grantaire, hair falling in his eyes. He could tell there was a passionate expression on his face, though he couldn’t see much of it, he could see the tip of his tongue sticking out between his lips in concentration. The drawing itself was dark. A man sat on a bench, hood drawn over his head, elbows on knees. He appeared normal. Above him, however, reality faded into mind and a sick, worsening soul cried in agony above him.

Enjolras had to pinch his wrist to keep himself moving. The amount of detail was a bit shocking, not to mention the darkness of the subject matter. He took the tissue from the counter and walked by again, taking one last look at the drawing before returning to his portion of table as the bell rang.

He watched Grantaire leave again, running a hand through his messy golden hair. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do about this. Certainly he couldn’t just go say hi to this guy, he didn’t seem approachable like that. Perhaps he’d work hard to get his art to look right he’d notice him.

But did he really want to be noticed? Enjolras wasn’t entire sure of the answer. While he was lonely, he wasn’t sure if he could handle the awkwardness of a new friendship, let alone a relationship where people hold hands and hugged and—Enjolras was kidding himself. That wouldn’t happen. The thought made him flush and frown as he shoved his stool under the table and walked out of the classroom, the thoughts rattling around his skull.


	3. Abyss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> shit gets lost and Enjolras breaths quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> List of excuses for having a short chapter:  
> -I am doing all of the house work this week.  
> -I am tired  
> -School is a bitch  
> -SUPERNATURAL PREMIER  
> -I am tired  
> -Baths (my god go check him out I love him so much)
> 
> I'm sorry for spelling/grammatical errors, but here you go, I'll edit all three chapters tomorrow, maybe.
> 
> Come say hi on tumblr! SpaciousSpace

No matter how hard he tried, Enjolras just couldn’t paint. He couldn’t _art_. Yet his determination to stay in the art class was still high, and he still hadn’t said a single word to Grantaire. The name still sent shivers down his spine.

The due date for the paint was coming up fast. Out of the three weeks they’d been given to work on the project, Enjolras had only missed a single day for a debate, and yet he still felt worlds away from the rest of the class whose paintings were pretty good looking. Enjolras’s painting consisted of a raven haired boy with curious blue eyes, though you could only see one due to the angle he was facing. He had to admit, it needed _lots_ of work, but it looked good for a beginner.

Grantaire’s painting was gorgeous. His style was a bit more water oriented, he had used less paint than water. It was pretty simple. A girl with dark brown hair, pretty face with just the right amount of makeup. She held a wine glass in her right hand and smiled genuinely at the viewer. She appeared to be on a roof of an apartment building, but it was difficult to tell in its unfinished state.

Enjolras had a few days left to finish up. He painted in a lopsided fireplace, made the boy sit on an archaic chair, a slight smile on his face which was as lopsided as the fireplace. He put a record player in the corner next to a stack of old vinyl cases.

Over the course of a few days he added—or rather attempted to add—shading. The light coming from the fireplace cast a warm glow on the pale skin of the boy, highlighting bits of his hair and jacket. Enjolras was fairly happy with it for it being his first try, but it didn’t come close to the boy who sat in front of him across the rectangle. Enjolras had taken to calling the rectangle the abyss. Often times when people dropped a pencil or paintbrush, it disappeared somewhere in the abyss and was never seen again.

It had happened to Grantaire once. He had set his brush on the table to reach for a different one and the old one had rolled off the table. It was with a great muttering of cursing that he got off the stool and went to look for it, but never found it. This resulted in him sitting on the floor next to the stool and pouting. Enjolras thought it was absolutely splendid and adorable, though he couldn’t just say that out loud because once he starting talking about Grantaire, he would ramble forever and ever.

The bell rang and the other students began to pack up, though neither Grantaire nor Enjolras began to pack their things. They were allowed in the art room for up to half an hour after class ended, and Enjolras often took advantage of that when he could. He couldn’t say the same about Grantaire, though.

Enjolras could tell by how tense Grantaire's shoulder blades were that he was angry. That and the violent manner he slashed his brush around and changed the night sky from the bright white of the canvas to black with twinkling lights.

Fifteen minutes after class ended Enjolras starting cleaning up. He kept the canvas in the locker provided by M. Javert to make sure people didn’t see it or fuss with it, and his paintbrush set stayed there as well. The room was silent save for the swishing of water as Grantaire cleaned the brush off and dabbed a new colour in.

The blond put his things in the locker and locked up, closing the locker and heading back to his seat to grab his stuff from under the stool. There was a clattering from the front of the room accompanied by a string of cuss words directed at a cell phone. Enjolras looked up to see Grantaire hop off his stool to look for his phone in the abyss, but not finding it.

Grantaire straightened up and ran a hand angrily though his hair. He turned on Enjolras. “Hey, can I borrow your phone?”

Enjolras’s breath caught in his throat, hands frozen on the table in front of him. Grantaire was talking to him. Actually _talking_ to him. He blinked a few times in what seemed like slow motion then nodded slowly, putting a hand in his pocket and grabbing his phone, holding it out to the raven haired boy.

When Grantaire took the phone from Enjolras one of his fingertips brushed against Enjolras’s palm. He was _freezing_ , and Enjolras shuddered. Grantaire graced him with a small smile, one that didn’t quite meet his eyes, and could probably be categorized as more of a smirk than a smile. And suddenly Enjolras was too hot and _why the fuck was he wearing a sweatshirt it’s like four hundred twenty five degrees in here, he might as well be a Papa Murphy’s pizza._ Enjolras can feel the heat in his face and neck and ears and he looks away to try to focus on something else.

After a few seconds Grantaire is talking on the phone with someone, mostly saying “yes” and “thank you”. When Enjolras’s gaze returns to Grantaire he’s looking right back and that moment of eye contact proves his determination to stay in this class even though he’s so shitty at art and has no imagination when it comes to visual things.

Enjolras looks away and pretends to fiddle with his backpack, not noticing that Grantaire is done with the phone and is standing on the other side of the table with his hand outstretched, the electronic held out to its owner. When he does notice he blushes again and takes the phone back with a tiny smile.

“Thanks, ‘preciate it.” Grantaire winks at him then grabs his bag and heads out the door, leaving Enjolras to sit hyperventilating on the floor. He digs the heels of his palms into his eyes, rubbing at them as though he thinks his eyes have just played one wonderfully cruel joke on him. When he opens his eyes his vision is blurry dots of black and white and some blue, but when his eyes readjust to not being pressed on with the weight of an anvil, he sees Grantaire’s phone sitting under the counter.

He stands and walks to it, picking it up and turning it over in his hand. It’s a simple flip phone, covered in splatters of different coloured paint. He smiles some and pockets it, grabbing his backpack and slinging it over a shoulder, heading out of the classroom for the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is so fucking short I'm sorry


	4. Blueberry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The phone is a bitch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hallo,  
> Another short chapter. Sorry.  
> Come say hi on tumblr! SpaciousSpace  
> I really love comments guys. Just throwing that out there.

Enjolras turned the phone in circles in his hand a few times, staring at the glint from the ceiling lights on the plastic. The debate club meeting didn't start for another ten minutes, but what else was he going to do? He could go sit in his car or take a nap, but he decided sitting in his spiny chair staring into space and thinking about the upcoming meeting would be more productive. The phone buzzed in his hand, the small screen on the front of the phone displaying the one new text message symbol. Enjolras shrugged it off and pocketed the phone, deciding not to go through Grantaire's text messages.

As per usual, members of the club began streaming into the room. Jehan gave him a wink as he walked in and tucked a few flowers from his bag behind his ear. Enjolras smiled gratefully and stood from his chair. By the time the meeting started everyone had pink and red flowers in their hair and tucked behind ears. It really was amusing for Enjolras to stand before this group of suddenly feminine guys. He cleared his throat to cover a laugh.

"Right. Hi guys." He allowed himself a small chuckle at how adorable everyone looked, then found himself blushing when he realized he had begun to wonder how cute Grantaire would look with flowers in his hair. He cleared his throat. "Well, as you all know, we have a debate coming up this Saturday. We need to make sure that we are all prepared, and Courf, you need to start remembering your bloody facts. We can't have you getting up there to give a rebuttal and have you blank out." There were nods and mutters between a few students. Enjolras smiled at the rest of the group.

"As for the rest of you," Enjolras shuddered suddenly, the phone in his pocket vibrating right above his hip sending delicious shivers up and down his spine. He bit his lip and tried again. "As for the rest of you, we're running through main points today. Combeferre, since you're our opener, go ahead and step up. I'll work the opponent's side." Enjolras took a step to the side and nodded towards the front of the room to tell Combeferre to get up.

Combeferre seemed a bit nervous, as always. "Well, let's see here." Enjolras gave him a moment to compose his thoughts, then he began to speak. "In our current age, we are told that only certain things are socially acceptable, and being gay isn't one of them."

The whole club shifted in their seats. This was a tense topic for many of them, including Enjolras, though no one knew. "Gay rights is currently a—“ Enjolras began to squirm again, the vibration setting on the phone set to S.O.S. in Morse code. The phone's vibrations wouldn't be a problem if it where vibrating elsewhere. Had it been in his hand, no problem. But right above his hip was a _spot_ for him. He ran a hand through his hair to cover for it and considered excusing himself to put the phone in his backpack. He could hear Jehan’s stifled laughter coming from a desk to his left. He shot a pointed glare in that direction which only served to make him laugh more.

By the time the phone had stopped and Enjolras came back to reality, Combeferre was done with his portion and had sat down. Enjolras pursed his lips and then began speaking. “People may think gays aren’t harmful. They think—“ the phone vibrated again. Enjolras rolled his eyes to the ceiling, hands in fists. Who the hell was texting Grantaire this much? Surely they knew he wasn’t going to respond, so why bother texting more? He regained his composure. “They think that homosexuals—“ he was cut off by a rapid succession of text messages, vibrations dreadfully wonderful.

“Jehan, you’re opponents side. Courf, you’re up next.” Enjolras stalked to the back of the room, feeling the eyes of his fellow students on his back as he got to his desk, sitting down and removing the phone from his pocket. The screen read sixteen new messages. He made something between a whimper and a frustrated sigh, tossing the phone in his bag. After that, the phone didn’t vibrate once. 

-ooo-

Enjolras finished the painting. It was as good as he could have hoped, when he really looked at it. It was a pretty boy with fair skin, sitting near a fireplace with his legs crossed, an amused expression on his face and pink windflowers in his hair. The glass of wine he held in his hand was moved about to the point where it might slosh out onto his flesh. The blush on the boy’s cheeks was only slightly less pink than the flowers in his hair. 

He handed it to M. Javert with a small smile, and he received a grin in return. 

Today’s class was rather laid back. People talked or sketched, but Enjolras just put in his earbuds and closed his eyes, letting his mind wander.

We wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that until there was a hand on his shoulder. He sat up and jerked the buds out of his ears when he saw who it was. A blush spread across his face and he smiled goofily. “Hi.” His voice cracked and the blush crept down his neck.

“Hey.” Grantaire smiled, his charm like an aura about him. “You wouldn’t happen to have my phone, would you?” Enjolras blinked. _What if he thinks I stole it? Fuck, I completely forgot I had it. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck._ Enjolras nodded and leaned down to grab the phone from his backpack, handing it to Grantaire. “Thanks. I appreciate it. It's a piece of shit, but I need it anyways. Surely you must have one of those fancy blueberries.” Enjolras chuckled. "What, did I say something wrong?"

"No, I'm just pretty sure they're Blackberries. And I have an iPhone." The two boys grinned and there was a brief silence, then the raven-haired one rested his elbows on the table with a genuine smile. “I heard you’re the leader of the debate club. What do you debate about, Apollo?” Enjolras gaped at him.

“Apollo? And we debate about a lot of things. Mostly freedoms and rights.” Grantaire smiled still.

“You know, the Greek God? Apollo? And What are you debating about right now? Anything _exciting?_ ” His eyes glinted with amusement.

“Gay rights.” Enjolras looked over to Javert’s office door, which had just swung open. The class quieted down. Javert held two canvases with the grading cards on the back. He walked to the front of the room and set the paintings down.

“This project was too easy to grade.” Javert’s voice was conceited. “The two best pieces are hung on the back wall on the black cork board. This project was horrible. You all need work.” He paused. “Well, most of you need work. The two best ones are Grantaire’s,” He held up Grantaire’s painting of the girl on the roof, the sky even more beautiful than the last time Enjolras had seen it. There were sounds of admiration and awe from the class. Grantaire had turned around and was looking at Javert. His face held no register that anything of importance had happened.

“The second, Enjolras’s, surprisingly.” Javert held up Enjolras’s painting. The class was silent for a moment, and then all eyes turned on Grantaire. There was a soft murmuring, most of it in approval. Grantaire turned around to face Enjolras again, an expression of surprise plastered on his face. He searched Enjolras’s eyes for any explanation, but when Enjolras gave none, Grantaire turned to face Javert again.

“Well done, you two.” He took the canvases and returned to his office. The class began chatting amongst themselves again, leaving Grantaire to return his focus on Enjolras. “That was me?” Grantaire’s voice betrayed his once again slightly amused expression, pleasant surprise tinting his voice. Enjolras nodded slowly, running a hand silently through his hair. Grantaire pondered something for a moment, studying Enjolras’s expression, then smiled. “It was beautiful.”

“Thank you.” Enjolras smiled, unconsciously picking up his pencil and twirling it between his fingers. He wasn't about to say that it wasn't anything in comparison to the actual living, breathing subject.

“Jehan told me you were passionate, but I didn’t really mark you the artistic observer type.” Enjolras froze.

Jehan?


	5. Water Colours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire scopes his phone out and a new project is assigned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reasons for me not to post this:  
> -My beta (no matter how fucking perf he is) has classes and he doesn't need me taking up his time  
> -i suck dicks for not posting im sorry  
> -I suffered a weird round of depression that came back and idk what happened  
> -writers block  
> -Soup or Natural  
> -Christmas  
> -Coffee  
> -seriously im so sorry
> 
> This is a short chapter. I swear to god, I have a long one coming up for you guys. Please bear with me and be patient. I thank you all for sticking with this for three months of deadness.

"Jehan?" Enjolras kept the smile on his face, albeit the surprise he felt threatened to change that.

  
Grantaire nodded. "Yeah. You know. Flowers, debate club member, passionate poetry writer, listens to indie music? That one." Grantaire looked down at his phone and saw the insane amount of messages. "Speaking of which..." He flipped the electronic open and read through the messages, smirking at the screen. Once he'd read the last one he looked up at a clueless Enjolras, chuckling breathily at the blank expression on his face. "I'd better grab my stuff. Class ends in a minute." He nodded at the clock and straightened up and returned to his seat.

  
Enjolras was left alone at his seat, heart beat pounding in his ears. He pulled his own phone out and stared at it idly until the bell rang. Students began filing out of the room, leaving Enjolras to stare at Grantaire’s back, hands shaking from the exhilaration of finally having a conversation with his muse.

Enjolras watched the raven-haired boy’s back as he left, not looking back once. The blond stood from his stool and ran his hands through his hair. Javert’s door swung open and he walked to the back of the room to hang his and Grantaire’s paintings as well as the people from the other class periods’. Enjolras began to pack his things up but was interrupted by the sound of the teacher’s voice.

“I was impressed with your painting. I noticed it changed though. Why did you take him out of the chair and put him on the floor? The chair was very nicely done. Very detailed.” Outside of class M. Javert was actually rather kind.

“It just kind of happened. I felt like with the flower it just worked better.” Enjolras slung his backpack over his shoulder and turned to look at Javert.

Javert made a thoughtful noise. “That makes sense.” He finished hanging the paintings and turned to face his student, leaning his back against the counter. “I wasn’t expecting it, really. I look forward to seeing more of your art.” Javert smiled at Enjolras.

The blond took this as his queue to leave and headed out the door to debate club.

 

**-ooo-**

Grantaire dropped his bag at the door as soon as he’d shut it. He was tired and hungry and suddenly his apartment didn’t seem as welcoming as it normally was. He dropped down on his couch and winced when his phone dug into his side. He pulled it from his pocket and looked at it. The paint covered plastic was familiar and it made him smile to think of how it came to be covered in the multicoloured paint. He flipped it open and looked through the messages.

// _Yesterday, 2:30 pm Grantaireeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee_

_// Yesterday, 2:30 pm R you should text me back_

_//Yesterday, 2:37 pm Wait youre in art class omg_

_//Yesterday, 3:32 pm omg Grantaire he has your phone_

_//Yesterday, 3:35 pm he has your phone omg_

_//Yesterday, 3:35 pm how did he get your phone_

_//Yesterday, 3:35 pm how the hell did he get your phone_

_//Yesterday, 3:35 pm its so adorable omg if you could see this_

_//Yesterday, 3:35 pm he has it in his pocket but the pants are kinda high up and it hitting him right on his hip_

_//Yesterday, 3:35 pm he cant even speak_

_//Yesterday, 3:35 pm hes just kind of squirming_

_//Yesterday, 3:35 pm with flowers in his hair_

_//Yesterday, 3:35 pm this is so hilarious_

_//Yesterday, 3:35 pm im making this happen_

_//Yesterday, 3:35 pm hey there enjy_

_//Yesterday, 3:36 pm I see you squirming up there_

_//Yesterday, 3:36 pm dat hip_

_//Yesterday, 3:36 pm u liek dat_

_//Yesterday, 3:36 pm hes probably gonna go to the back of the room and make us do debate rehearsal the rest of the time_

_//Yesterday, 3:36 pm oop there he goes._

Grantaire couldn’t help but laugh. The thought of the quiet guy from his art class with flowers in his hair speaking in front of a group of his peers made him laugh, but the fact that he was squirming made it better and even more hilarious.

He sighed and let his phone sit on his knee, leaning back to relax into the atrocious coloured couch. Grantaire liked having the house to himself. It was convenient that his parents never cared enough to be home. It allowed him to do what he pleased, and for the most part that meant painting and listening to bad music to most people’s standards.

Today though, he didn’t really feel up to painting, didn’t think he could really feel the music. So he instead simply sat on the couch and stared at his phone. That paint splattered, chipped, scratched, almost broken phone. It’d been dropped in the abyss and returned to him by Apollo.

Grantaire would swear on his life that that kid’s hair was the best hair he’d ever seen. He bet it was ridiculously soft and luxurious. He would run his hands through it all day if he could.

Enough of those thoughts, though. He flipped his phone open and stared at the screen for a minute or two, the screen dimming after a while. He finally hit the up button to start a new message and typed out a simple greeting to Jehan who responded back quickly with a one worded response. Small conversation continued to be batter back and forth until Jehan sent back a question.

_// Today, 3:58 pm so be serious and honest here what do you think of Enjolras_

Grantaire’s brain didn’t register the name right away, but when he put two and two together to figure out Jehan was talking about Apollo he physically shrugged.

\\\ _Sent 3:58 pm I dunno he’s cool I guess._

He was pretty damn attractive, but he wasn’t about to let his gayness show. He was pretty open about not being straight with his friends, but most people didn’t know. He assumed no one else knew, and he also assumed Apollo to be straight. He gave up on attractive people right away just because they were either morbidly religious (nothing against religious people) or two, homophobic, and sometimes the two went hand in hand.

There was dead air on the phone for a moment, then the message came back in.

_// Today, 4:13 pm but seriously you should come to debate club you miss out on a lot_

Grantaire could actually contemplate that. He didn’t have anything to do after school anyways, so he might as well go if not just once. He really should. He could learn so much more.

And so it was decided that Grantaire would attend the next meeting of the debate club.

 

**-ooo-**

 

“The next project is a water colour painting. I’ll give you paper for this project, just come talk to me when you need it. It’s open subject, so when you think of one, try it out on a piece of printer paper and then come to me.” Javert returned to his office and closed the door as per usual.

Enjolras went to the back cupboard and grabbed a sheet of paper. He figured a silhouette or face would be the best for this project, and he couldn’t help but wonder what Grantaire was going to do for his. Upon returning to his seat he looked up at Grantaire’s back. He was slumped over his table with his back twisted in an odd way that made it apparent that he was sleeping. Enjolras grinned and pulled out his set of water colours.

He decided to make everything but the main figure monotone with grays and blacks, and the body regular coloured, maybe with a pink flower in his hair. He started out working on the silhouette of a car, a tree in the background of that, then started the basic figure. Green jacket, jeans, hands in pockets. He put a pink flower in raven hair. The basic outline was done in twenty minutes, and suddenly the class was over.

Enjolras looked at Grantaire who was now awake and staring blearily at his phone. The blond smiled to himself and left the class as the bell rang, heading to the room for debate club.

He unlocked the door when he got there and took his spinning chair like normal. He spun about for a few minutes until people started showing up. Today, Jehan didn’t show up with Courfeyrac and the group, and he could feel something was up.

With only one minute left until debate club started, Jehan walked through the door, dragging a groggy Grantaire with him. Enjolras felt his heart pick up and heat start crawling up his cheeks.

Grantaire was here.


End file.
